Clinging to the edge
by NancyMay
Summary: Having re watched seasons 1 & 2 I now wonder why Aunt P didn't comment on the blood on Phryne's hands in Death at Victoria Dock, and that she had come home without her blouse. It seemed cold, almost callous that she didn't even remark on it, or have the slightest reaction. Here's my take on what should have happened.


She drew the white wrap round her shivering shoulders as Hugh drove her home. He'd probably get in trouble for this but she didn't think she would be safe behind the wheel. She could barely voice her thanks as she almost fell out of the car and staggered up the path. He watched her go and shook his head sadly. Ladies should not have to witness shootings and young men dying in their arms, that was a fancy from novels. He didn't know what she had seen during the war, that it was a flashback for her and the effect it would have on her would be different to one of the usual society women who would have screamed and wailed. Miss Fisher had done as much as she could have, tried to stem the flow of blood and had remained calm, until she stood up and realised the cuffs of her white blouse were stained with blood; then she had trembled as she undid the buttons and taken it off.

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The words Mr Butler spoke as she stepped into the hall were the last words she wanted to hear.

"Your aunt is in the parlour, Miss Fisher," he murmured, noting her pale face and the blood on her hands. As she headed into the parlour, resignation in her shoulders, he poured her a whisky and followed her in.

Mrs Stanley seemed not to notice the state of her niece and launched into a diatribe about Jane's behaviour and that she was to be suspended from school.

Phryne listened as she downed the drink, said she would speak to Jane the following day and held out her glass for a refill.

"Now, Phryne," Prudence continued huffing.

"Not now, Aunt Prudence," Phryne raised her voice, "now all I want is a stiff drink and a hot bath, good bye!" She stood up and marched out of the parlour.

"Phryne!"

Phryne ignored her and ran up the stairs to her bedroom.

Dot was already running her a bath, Mr Butler must have told her what he had seen, and laying out a nightgown and robe.

Neither spoke until Phryne was in the bath.

"Who was he, Miss?" Dot almost whispered.

"I don't know, he was young." Phryne sank under the water.

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Phryne let Dot help her dry and put on her nightgown. She got straight into bed and declined the offer of food or drink but let Dot apply some hand cream, her touch was gentle and soothing.

Dot closed the door behind her, taking the soiled clothing with her. She doubted she would be able to get the blood out of the wrap or the trousers.

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As the lock clicked Phryne sank down into the bed and burst into tears. She curled up in the foetal position and sobbed as if her heart would break. It had been a scene she hoped never to be confronted with again even though life as a Lady Detective could be dangerous. Memories of holding the hands of dying soldiers, being covered in blood, having it spattered across her face; gunshot wounds, missing limbs, infected wounds, screaming and explosions, flooded her mind. She sobbed herself to sleep.

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Jack stood at the front door, her bloodied blouse in his hand. He had been angry with Hugh for allowing himself to be used as a chauffeur, but he shouldn't have been and he knew it. He knew Phryne had driven ambulances during the war, she would have seen sights that made his blood run cold, and Hugh was right when he told his superior that Miss Fisher was in no state to drive. He could have saved returning the blouse until the morning and wondered if he just needed to see that she was ok. Was he letting feelings he denied having over rule his sensibility? Probably, but at least he could just see if she was alright.

Dot answered the door.

"Miss Fisher had a bath and went straight to bed, Inspector," she held out her hand for the blouse.

"Of course," he offered a sympathetic smile, "I shall call in the morning - for her statement."

As he turned to go a piercing scream cut through the night. Jack threw his hat on the floor and as he ran up the stairs flung his coat off; they would be in the way. He burst into her bedroom and saw her sitting up in bed, eyes wide and unseeing, hands gripping the bed-sheets. She was still screaming and shaking - night terrors. He sat on the bed and drew her to him, holding her tight and rocking her.

"Shh, it's ok, Phryne, it's over, shh ..." over and over. "I'm here, you're safe, shh ..."

She didn't fight him though through the noises in her head she could barely hear him. But he was warm and steady and his arms were strong. She gripped his waistcoat under his jacket and the screams subsided eventually into sobs, then sniffles and hiccups.

He was now in an awkward position. Her grip on his waistcoat was vice-like and every time he tried to extricate himself she drew in a ragged breath.

Dot had followed him up the stairs with Mr Butler close behind her. They both stood watching until Mr Butler shook his head and the realisation out of his head. He had been in the AIF and had some knowledge of what they would both have been through during the war. Night terrors were not unheard of for veterans and Phryne had admitted to nightmares on occasion - when he found her in the kitchen late at night drinking brandy-laced cocoa. He advanced towards the bed, noting the perplexed expression on the Inspector's face. Perplexed because he didn't quite know what to do.

"I think shoes and tie off, Inspector," Mr Butler started on the shoe laces, "you should be more comfortable that way, until Miss Fisher lets go."

Jack tried to clear his throat quietly but nodded; both Dot and Mr Butler were discreet, he was probably the most embarrassed in the room. He shuffled a bit further down the bed and got comfortable, though sleeping in ones clothes is never that comfortable.

He eventually dozed off, his arms still round Phryne and her head on his chest. She still held the edge of his waistcoat but not so tightly as she had done at first. However, when he tried to move, to lift her off him she somehow wriggled closer. Part of him thought she was doing it on purpose but the less cynical half hoped she was still sleeping deeply. He, himself, had nightmares; not as bad as when he had first returned from the war but they still happened if he was working on a particularly challenging case.

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Phryne stirred and flexed her fingers, stiff from holding tight to the edge of Jack's waistcoat. She drew in a deep breath, sniffing the faintly familiar scent and listened to the steady beat in her ear. All she remembered from the previous evening was getting cross with her aunt and storming up the stairs for a bath. The rest was rather a blur. Vaguely she recalled the reason Aunt Prudence had been there, something about Jane being suspended from school but she had other things on her mind, things that had crowded her, made her feel as if she was drowning; drowning in a sea of thick, claggy mud.

She opened one eye and scanned the landscape of a blue waistcoat and white shirt. How Jack Robinson, or rather, why Jack Robinson was in, or on, her bed was a mystery to be solved, but not nearly as important as the mystery of why he was fully clothed. There again, to awake and find him naked beside her with no memory of the previous night would have been a disappointment in the extreme. She stretched and pushed back to find her way blocked by an arm.

Jack took a moment to remember where he was before he opened his eyes and watched her think. The slight furrow in her brow was oddly endearing but as she pushed back against his arm he decided to admit to being conscious.

"Good morning, Miss Fisher," he whispered as if it was the most normal thing in the world to be beside her this way.

"Jack," she blinked and offered a small and slightly cheeky smile, "er ... good morning." She pushed herself up to lie against the pillows.

"Sorry," he sat up and settled onto the pillow next to her. "I came by last evening, to return your blouse. As I left you screamed so ..."

"You charged up the stairs like a knight in shining armour to defend my honour," she reached for his hand, "thank you."

"It turns out you were having night terrors," he stared ahead at the landscape on the wall.

"Oh."

"You probably don't remember," he smiled, "nightmares, yes, but not night terrors."

"No, I don't," she bit her lip, "but you stayed."

"You wouldn't let go," he gave a little embarrassed laugh. "Every time I tried to move you tightened your grip on my waistcoat. Mr Butler took off my shoes and tie."

He shifted to the side of the bed and slipped on his shoes. Standing up and retrieving his tie he readied himself to leave. He studied her face, sad? perhaps, embarrassed? maybe, regretful? almost certainly.

"Jack," she called just as he reached the door, "thank you."

"Miss Fisher," he smiled and nodded.

"Oh, Jack," that familiar lilt to her voice - he knew he was going to regret answering.

"Yes?"

"Any time you'd like to repeat the experience ... I'll try to stay lucid," she grinned.

He just ducked out of the door hiding his grin. One day ...


End file.
